


thrown over the side

by heatherchandler (red_handedjill)



Series: Tumblr Prompts [13]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Accidental Death, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Heathers AU, Maya is Heather C, Murder, Possibly Unrequited Love, Riley is Veronica, Zay is JD but like accidentally JD bc he's too sweet to really be JD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_handedjill/pseuds/heatherchandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a dead hand on her leg, a boy fallen against a closet door, and a broken mug of drain cleaner all whispering that she killed her best friend. — rilaya, zaley</p>
            </blockquote>





	thrown over the side

Maya Hart was a bitch. Maya Hart was a lot of things, actually, bitch just happened to be the one that stuck out the most to Riley Matthews. She kicks down the part of her that whispers Maya Hart is  ~~so fucking~~  beautiful. One kick and she promises it’s dead.

~~It’s not the only thing that’s dead.~~

She looks at her boyfriend, really looks at him. Zay clutches his heart and she thinks maybe he’s wrapped his fingers around his locket. He’s not breathing, not properly. His eyes are wide and scared, remorse clear, vibrant in the dark of them.

There’s still a hand gripping her thigh, cold and only getting colder. What did Maya choke out in that moment Riley was holding her and the world was on fire, burning down too fast to know?

 ~~Corn Nuts. Fucking Corn Nuts.~~  She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know anything other than the fact that the hands of the living aren’t this cold. Even if they were, the living don’t fall down like that, spluttering with blue tongues and lips that had just been shades of red.

That fucking hand is burning her, ice cold and tense on her leg, so she rips it off. It hurts more than leaving her hand.

“Oh, my god,” she breathes, “Zay, I—I just killed my  _best friend._ ”

Maybe “best friend” isn’t the right phrase. She doesn’t know where the fuck that came from. Where they even that close? Maybe there were a few nights Maya let a bottle of alcohol touch her lips too long and whispered, harsh and cold against Riley’s earlobe about her  _fucking_ parents and the  _fucking_ boys and maybe there’s a photo strip in both of their lockers from the mall but Riley hardly thinks they were best friends.

Zay chokes for a moment before managing, “and your worst enemy” as if it will do any good.

It’s not like “worst enemy” doesn’t fit.

“What do I  _do?_  I didn’t mean to—they’ll think I did this on purpose and—oh, my  _god!_ ” She sobs, not leaving Maya Hart’s corpse to cling to his flannel.

He lurches forward. “I—I didn’t mean for you to take that mug, I—shit. Riley, I need you to breathe. We need to forge her a suicide note. They won’t arrest us if they think she did this on purpose.”

Riley doesn’t know what she says to that but she fumbles for Maya’s pen and starts writing once her vision stops being so goddamn blurry. She needs to focus and think. This is Maya’s last statement to the world.  _Maya’s._

She tries not to look at Maya’s body as she writes every sad thing Maya has ever said to her with too much liquor in her blood, connects it all into some bullshit sort of goodbye.  ~~She almost lets herself say that Maya loved her in some fucked up way and then she crosses it out fourteen different times.~~

“Riles, Riles, breathe. You’re not breathing. I—I am so, so sorry for this but I need you to breathe for now and finish this,” Zay whispers, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand and his forehead cradled in the space between her neck and shoulder. She wishes it were fucking comforting. She wishes he didn’t need to at all. Some part of her wishes she hadn’t crossed it out.

When she can finally drop the fucking pen, he slips Maya’s copy of _The Bell Jar_ into her dead hand—the same one that had been gripping Riley’s thigh like it would help anything. Riley wants to curl up and die there or to leap into his arms and never leave them. Instead she grabs his hand and runs.

She tries not to think about the photo strip and the lips to her ear and the hand on her knee during science and everything that could have been.


End file.
